


Mugshots

by eureka1



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Could Be Canon, Drama, Family, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Pre-Series, Real Life Situations, what if
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25438687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eureka1/pseuds/eureka1
Summary: Justin’s desperate for a bit of freedom, but it all hinges on an important test. On the other side of town, Brian’s having a bad day, which leads him to the same place as Justin. What happens when they encounter each other?or...What if the sighting under the lamppost wasn’t actually the first sighting?
Relationships: Brian Kinney/Justin Taylor (Queer as Folk)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 53





	Mugshots

**Author's Note:**

> A big thanks to my Synergy Sister, Brynn Jones, for the banner and beta! 
> 
> Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Russell T Davies, Cowlip, and Showtime. No copyright infringement is intended. I just play with the boys in my dreams. :D
> 
> 30 Oct 2020: Title changed from "The Test"

Justin was sitting on the diving board, bare toes skimming the water and his best friend’s head resting on his shoulder, when his cell phone blared out, ‘Every step you take, I’ll be watching you.’ He jumped, dislodging Daphne and making the diving board bounce beneath them.

“Justin Cole Taylor, where are you?” his mother shrilled down the line after he fished the cell out of his pocket and pressed the green phone symbol to accept the call. “We’re going to be late for your appointment if-”

“Shit!” Justin swore, interrupting his mom. He couldn’t believe he’d lost track of time on this of all afternoons. “I’ll be right there,” he promised, hanging up on Jennifer.

“Gotta go,” he told Daphne, springing up and deftly avoiding the kick she aimed at him with her right foot. After all these years, he was wise to her attempts to dunk him. “I’ve got my test at four o’clock.”

“That’s _today_?” she yelled, aborting another strike with her foot. “What the heck are you still doing here?”

“I lost track of time,” the boy sheepishly admitted, hurriedly shoving his damp feet into his sneakers.

Daph shook her head, looking at him in fond exasperation. “Don’t worry; you’ll do fine. It’s not that hard. I mean, I scored ninety-eight percent,” she smugly reminded him.

“Bitch,” Justin muttered, Daph’s peals of laughter following him as he hotfooted it out of the Chanders’ backyard and down the sidewalk toward his house. He hated it when his best friend had the edge on him, but this was one area where she was indisputably better.

Brian tossed the offending object on Cynthia’s desk, barking, “Find out what the fuck this is for.”

“Good morning to you too,” his assistant retorted, raising one perfectly shaped blonde eyebrow at him.

“It’s from the DMV,” Brian elaborated, eyeing the stained envelope in distaste. The notice must’ve gone into the wrong mailbox at his building; then whoever had picked up the piece of mail spilled juice or something on it before cramming it into Brian’s slot. As a result, the writing was so blurred that he hadn’t been able to make out what he was being fined for after he snagged it this morning on the way to his jeep, or more importantly, whether points had been assessed against his driving license.

“Ah,” Cynthia murmured, dialing back the attitude. “I’ll get right on it, boss.”

A few years back, shortly after getting the coveted promotion to senior account executive, he’d hit six points and had to retake the fucking written test to prove he knew the rules of the road, get two points removed, and escape having his license suspended. Fortunately, Cynthia had covered for him. She’d walked into his office while he was berating one of the DMV managers, the ticket on the desk in front of him. Although she’d laughed her head off - served him right - and still teased Brian about it occasionally, she didn’t let on to anyone else. When Marty had barged in, looking for Brian, she came up with a bullshit story about how his mother was ill. It wasn’t really a lie, considering Joan imbibed too much sherry, vodka, or whatever else was handy every fuckin’ day and was hardly steady on her pins. Well, okay, it was a lie, he allowed after a moment’s consideration, but it was a plausible one. She could’ve easily fallen down and given herself a concussion. 

This year, after accumulating five points early on, Brian was on the verge of having his license suspended, so he’d been extra careful not to add another point. He was driving as slow and cautiously as a ‘fucking nun’ as he often groused to his assistant, parking only in the designated spots, and making sure to never ever overtake a stopped school bus. He just needed to reach twelve months without any more penalties - he was close, the goal only a couple months away - and three points would be removed. Then he’d have a bit of wiggle room if something else happened.

Justin’s knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel tightly. How could he have lost track of time like that? This was, like, the most important day of his life. “Fuck!” he grunted. When he got his learner's permit six months ago and made this appointment, the DMV had been booked solid for three weeks from today. If he missed the appointment, fuck knew when he’d next be able to take the test. 

“Don’t curse, Justin!” Jennifer reprimanded him. “You know that sets a poor example for Molly.”

“Sorry,” Justin insincerely mumbled an apology.

“No child of mine is going to have a potty mouth, especially at six years old,” his mom continued a little less stridently. “Molly looks up to you, sweetie, so I count on you to be a good role model.”

The teenager gave a mental eye-roll at that claptrap. His sister was the bane of his existence, he thought irritably, always tattling on him whenever he said a bad word in her presence.

“Tell you what,” Jennifer suggested cheerily; “to celebrate getting your license, why don’t you take your sister to her pee-wee batting practice on Thursday?”

Justin almost gave himself whiplash, twisting his neck to stare at his mom in horror, before hurriedly looking back at the road. How the fuck would that be a _celebration_?

“Molly would love it, Justin. Her friends have been pestering her to bring you by another time.”

Was that supposed to make it better? Justin was proud of Mollusk - not that he’d tell her that - for successfully competing with kids a couple years older than she was, but having a bunch of little girls crush on him was gross. Besides, softball was boring.

Jennifer chuckled. “I know softball’s not your favorite sport, Justin.”

The teenager grunted in agreement. He didn’t much care for any kind of baseball.

“But if you pass your driving test and do that for your sister, then I’ll get you that portable French easel you’ve been drooling over at Blick’s. I’ll even let you drive there by yourself, or with Daphne, to pick it up.”

Justin grinned. He really wanted that beech wood easel. It was way cool how it folded up around a storage box, with a wooden palette inside. Also, if he played his cards right - said he was gonna hang out with Daph - maybe he could even tack on a visit to-

His mother quashed that idea before it was fully formed. “You’ll have to go during the day, though. I’ll be meeting with my bridge group in the evening.”

Justin opened his mouth to protest that he didn’t even know what day he’d go to Blick’s - no way would she be playing bridge every evening - but then he thought better of it. That would just tick his mother off and make her more stubborn and suspicious. He’d have to be patient and wait for the right opportunity.

As he inched up to a four-way stop, Justin returned to fretting about being late for his test and not getting to take it today. The DMV would probably flag his file, all because he was late, he thought morosely. He was sure to be the last one they rescheduled.

“Goddammit,” Brian cursed, banging his hands against the steering wheel as the traffic around him again ground to a halt. Between the shit weather and the bumper-to-bumper rush hour traffic, he was going nowhere fast. You’d think fuckin’ Yinzers would know how to drive in the rain, but you’d be wrong. They were driving like a gaggle of lezzie moms taking their kids to the first day of preschool - distracted, anxious, and all weepy about letting their ‘precious little darlings’ out of their sight.

That thought made him scowl, his bad mood worsening. A couple months ago, Lindsay had started a campaign to get him to provide sperm so that she and the bulldyke could have a baby. “It’s you or no one, Peter,” the blonde kept insisting.

“Fuckin’ Linds,” he growled. Somehow or other she’d convinced the she-devil to go along with her plans, and although he hadn’t given in yet, he could feel himself weakening. His Wendy knew exactly which buttons to push to get him to succumb to her pleas. She had refused to listen when he said he’d be a shit dad…

Brian shook his head in an effort to clear his mind of thoughts of babies and fatherhood. Right now, all he wanted was to reach the pennDOT Shadyside office before they closed. 

Cynthia had only been able to partially make out the numbers on the smeared DMV notice, although she came up with a couple possible matches after accessing the pennDOT website. “Best I can tell, Brian, it’s either a parking or speeding violation,” she’d informed him.

Perturbed, Brian immediately picked up the phone to call the local Pennsylvania Department of Transportation. A parking fine shouldn’t be a big deal - paying the fee usually erased those - but a speeding ticket or other moving violation would cause major headaches. The weird thing was that he couldn’t remember speeding - he usually drove a couple miles below the limit nowadays - or flouting any of the other traffic ordinances in the Pitts.

The unhelpful employee he’d spoken to - the DMV was infamous for those - refused to give him details about the ticket or to take payment over the phone. On top of that, the DOT office closest to the Ryder agency was closed for renovations. 

Marty had gotten pissy when Brian said he needed to leave early, but he had to pay for the ticket if he didn't want to end up with his license suspended, a court appearance, or have his insurance premium jacked up. He couldn’t very well say he had an appointment with a client - Ryder had already checked his calendar - so he again trotted out the sick mother excuse.

His boss had been dubious at first, until Brian solemnly declared it was her liver. If Joan didn’t have cirrhosis of the liver yet, she would soon, Brian was convinced. Marty didn’t need to know that she’d brought it on herself. 

Ryder had adopted a sympathetic mien - the wife he somehow hung onto despite his many affairs suffered from liver disease - and told Brian to take the rest of the afternoon off. Provided, of course, that he made sure to be ready for tomorrow morning’s presentation to a start-up company that wanted to compete with Victoria’s Secret. “Oh, and the campaign to get Iams on board,” the man had called after him as he headed for the door. “I want to see definite progress.”

If he had again reached or exceeded six penalty points, he’d probably lose his license for two weeks, have to retake both the written and road tests, and pay hefty fines - all because he’d racked up a few speeding and parking violations. It wasn’t like he’d run a red light, made an illegal U-turn at a busy intersection, or endangered anyone by driving recklessly. 

He could usually talk himself out of a ticket if the police officer was either queer or a woman, but straight policemen were a pain in his ass. Who the fuck _didn’t_ speed on major thoroughfares? When he’d been caught in a new speed trap near the heart of Liberty Avenue, his gaydar malfunctioned and he made the mistake of flipping off the cop who was writing out a citation. The cop wasn’t bad-looking, so it wouldn’t exactly have been a hardship to fuck him… and get himself out of a ticket. Brian had made his “fuck you” invitation subtle - stroking the side of his face with his middle finger extended - which was probably all that saved him from a night in the hoosegow. Either that or the policeman really had been tempted to take him up on his offer. With a genial smile, the officer only slapped him with a three-point deduction and a sizable fine. Brian knew he hadn’t been going more than seven miles over the speed limit, which should have meant a two-point deduction, but he wasn’t foolish enough to argue about it.

Issuing a ticket for parking in the alleyway outside Babylon or the diner was just a moneymaker for the city as far as Brian was concerned; he always left plenty of room for delivery or emergency vehicles to get past his jeep. Those hadn’t resulted in any points being assessed against him, but they were notated in his DMV record, and he’d been warned that he could be hauled before a judge if he kept flagrantly disobeying the parking rules in the Burgh.

“Come on!” he shouted when the stop light turned green and the car in front of him didn’t move. Traffic might be crawling, but there was plenty of room on the other side of the intersection for three or four cars the size of the tuna boat the man was driving. Had the idiot fallen asleep? Brian wondered, laying on the horn and joining the chorus from other irritated drivers.

Disregarding his mother’s “Don’t run!” admonition, Justin jogged through the back entrance of the Shadyside pennDOT building and beelined for the sign-in area for the road test, perspiration dotting his brow. He’d been thrilled when he heard that the main DMV in Pittsburgh would be closed for renovations for the summer and that the Shadyside location would temporarily offer testing. The teenager had assumed that would make everything easier; it was closer to home and in a fairly quiet suburb instead of the busy downtown area. What he didn’t think through when he’d accepted the four o’clock slot - the only opening right when he turned sixteen-and-a-half - was that he would be taking the test during rush hour, with the roads getting congested before that. He’d made it just on time, with five minutes to spare, but was still concerned that he wouldn’t get to take the test if he wasn’t signed in by four o’clock.

In line at the window, he rocked back and both on the balls of his feet, wishing the dark-haired kid in front of him would finish up already. From what he could hear, the kid and the DMV employee were yakking about someone they both knew, rather than conducting DOT-related business.

“See, there was no need to run,” an out-of-breath Jennifer protested, panting a little as she joined her son.

Justin’s rationale for sprinting into the building was that the DMV couldn’t refuse to let him take the test if he was in line before four o’clock. They _had_ to allow that much leeway, right? Even if the materials he’d been given when he got his learner’s permit and immediately made this appointment indicated he should check in at least fifteen minutes before the road test, to allow enough time for review of his documentation...

“It seems like yesterday that you were tooling around in your toy fire engine, Gus-bear in your lap,” Jennifer reminisced. “It’s hard to believe that you’re actually old enough to get your license.”

What Justin couldn’t believe was that his mom was talking about his childhood teddy bear in the middle of the frickin’ DMV. Christ, he hoped no one had overheard her.

“Hey, there’s Carrie,” the chatty DOT clerk told the kid he’d been gossiping with.

“Cool. See you later, Dwayne,” the teenager replied. He looked really young, so Justin figured that he also must’ve just reached the sixteen-and-a-half mark.

Justin glanced over as the dark-haired boy moved to one side, where he was greeted by a smiling redhead with a clipboard in her hand. That must be one of the road skill examiners, Justin guessed, hoping that the one assigned to him was just as friendly.

“You must be Taylor,” the clerk greeted Justin as he shuffled up to the window, his earlier impatience vanishing and trepidation taking over.

“Yeah,” Justin replied, mentally crossing his fingers as he passed his learner’s permit, vehicle registration and insurance, and completed forms through the slot at the bottom of the window.

“We paged you fifteen minutes ago,” Dwayne commented with a stern look.

Jennifer interceded on Justin’s behalf. “I’m afraid the traffic was heavier than we expected,” she explained. “The oncoming storm is turning everyone into a bunch of Nervous Nellies,” she finished with a tilt of her head and a light, conspiratorial laugh, as if letting the clerk in on a secret. The way she fibbed so easily was impressive, especially after she’d been on Justin’s case practically the whole way to the DMV.

Maybe it wasn’t so awful having his mother with him, Justin decided, admiring the way she’d charmed Dwayne, who was looking at Jennifer with a dopey smile on his face. But yuck, how could a guy as young as Dwayne - he couldn’t be more than twenty-five! - be crushing on his mom?

“Are you the one certifying that Justin has completed the requisite sixty-five hours of skill-building?” Dwayne inquired.

Justin was amused to note that the flirtatious clerk didn’t even look down at the form to check who had signed off. Nor did he say anything about verifying the requirements for driving at night or in bad weather.

“I sure am!” Jennifer chirped brightly. “Do you need to see my driver’s license?”

“If it was up to me, I’d waive that requirement,” Dwayne muttered. 

Geez, talk about sounding uneducated. Didn’t the dude know it should be ‘were’ instead of ‘was’ in a conditional statement, or in this instance, wishful thinking?

“I can tell you’re trustworthy,” the clerk intimated, staring deep into Jennifer’s blue-gray eyes.

Justin rolled his eyes. Get a move on, he silently urged the love-struck idiot. He’d been waiting forever to turn sixteen-and-a-half and meet all the requirements to get his junior license. He was desperate to get out on his own, and it’d be a lot easier to escape his mom’s eagle-eyed vigilance once he had a license, even if he’d have to sweet talk her into letting him use her sedan. That was gonna be a bit of a challenge, but he’d figure it out. He had to, or he’d go apeshit.

A loud boom came from overhead, followed by rain drumming hard on the roof of the DOT building. “Guess that thunderstorm is finally here,” Dwayne observed, sending a quick smirk in Justin’s direction.

Asshole, the teenager thought, shifting anxiously from foot to foot and fretting that the time he’d spent driving in adverse conditions wouldn’t be enough for him to handle the behind-the-wheel exam in this stormy, humid weather. At least it was rain, not snow, since he had basically zero experience driving in snow. The snow had been sparse this past winter, and on the few occasions when there was a layer of the white stuff on the ground, neither of his parents had been keen on taking him out for lessons - not after a busy day at the store for his dad and a full day at home for his mom. 

Not that he’d practiced very much at all with his dad, who was mostly either working or heading off to golf with Daphne’s dad and their other country club pals. When he did devote an hour to tutoring Justin, Craig always insisted that they use Jennifer’s Lincoln since he refused to let his son behind the wheel of his Mazda until he got his regular license. Justin didn’t really care since the silvery-gray Cosmo didn’t look very sporty, even if his dad insisted it was “totally a chick magnet.” Justin wasn’t sure why he needed a chick magnet when he had his mom, but he shrugged it off, chalking it up to some kind of weird midlife behavior. The way Craig babied the Cosmo, lovingly washing and polishing it by hand, stroking the steering wheel tenderly, you’d think the car was a girl.

The lessons went okay, except for his dad going on and on about how he could take girls out on dates now - like that was ever gonna happen. Besides, should he actually find a _boy_ he wanted to ask out on a date, there was the eleven p.m. DOT curfew to contend with if you didn’t have an adult in the car. Some date it would be if he had to be home that early, so it was just as well there was no one he was interested in.

The lessons with his mom were less stressful because she didn’t talk about dating - thank fuck. It was good that she was totally into the rules of the road and drilling them into his head since he was preparing to take his road test, but she was such a total back-seat driver that she drove him nuts.

“I do have to see your driver’s license, though,” Dwayne told Jennifer, his tone regretful. “My boss would have my tail if I didn’t check that.”

Justin doubted that was what the clerk’s boss would be upset about. Checking for certification of the sixty-five hours, especially the hours driving at night and in poor conditions - which were highlighted as particularly important in the driver’s manual - had to be more critical than the requirement that the adult accompanying the testee present a valid license.

Jennifer held her Fossil wallet up to the window, displaying the license in its plastic-covered slot.

“Wow.” Dwayne let out a low whistle, his eyes flicking from the blonde’s driver’s license to her face. “You look even younger now.”

His mom tittered, blushing prettily.

Justin would’ve laughed if he weren’t so grossed out. His _mother_ was eating up the blatant flattery - and flirting back - with a guy who still had acne and was barely half her age, for Chrissake.

“Dwayne!” came a shout from the back of the bullpen.

The DOT employee scowled at having his flirtation interrupted. “Gotta go have a tête-à-tête with the boss lady,” he sighed. “You feel free to stop by anytime,” he added with a waggle of his eyebrows at Jennifer before turning to look at Justin. “The test examiner’ll be out in a few,” he informed the teen. “Wait here.” With that, he slapped a ‘closed’ sign on the ledge in front of his station, an arrow directing visitors to the next window, and sauntered deeper into the warren of desks.

“Relax, honey.” His mom attempted to calm down Justin as he paced six steps away from the window and then six steps back, afraid that if he went any further than that, he might miss the examiner when they finally appeared. 

Justin glanced at his cheap Timex. Six minutes and still no one.

“Dwayne” - Jennifer’s voice went ridiculously dreamy as she murmured zit-boy’s name - “said someone would be right out.”

Four more minutes crawled past before an increasingly nervous Justin saw a man walking toward him, a clipboard in hand. The fortyish guy with a bit of flab around the middle looked like he was having a really bad day - his chin was dotted with beard stubble; his shirt was coming untucked and bunching up over his slacks; and his bloodshot eyes were at half mast, like he was still recovering from a hangover - at four in the afternoon - or was just in desperate need of a nap. 

“You Taylor?” the test examiner grunted, paying no attention to Jennifer, who was hovering at Justin’s side.

“Yeah,” Justin squeaked, the word coming out high-pitched and making him sound uncertain as to who he was. Shit, the guy was gonna think he was just now going through puberty. Mortified, the sixteen-year-old flushed a deep red.

The examiner’s lips twitched in what might’ve been amusement. “I’m Jeff Sutton,” he introduced himself in a nasally voice and extended a hand for Justin to shake.

Justin quickly blotted his sweaty palm on his cargo pants before sticking out his right hand and shaking the examiner’s hand in greeting. “Mr. Sutton,” the teenager said, his voice fortunately coming out at a more normal register this time.

“Shall we?” Jeff asked in a bored tone, gesturing to the entrance.

“Good luck, honey,” Jennifer wished him, patting him on the arm when Justin stepped away from the intended hug. 

Christ, talk about embarrassing. He didn’t need his mother to hold his hand. 

“I’ll be waiting right here, okay?” Jennifer informed him, appearing a bit forlorn.

“’Kay,” Justin muttered. When would his mom get that he wasn’t five years old anymore?

As they pushed through the back door, the teenager stared in dismay at the water which was sheeting down from the dark skies. It had sprinkled lightly on the way to the DMV, but that was it, leaving Justin hopeful that the forecast rain would hold off till after the exam. No such luck, he thought, grimacing as he pulled the key fob out of the side pocket of his pants and pressed the bottom button twice, unlocking the doors of the silver Lincoln LS, which was parked right by the door, in one of the spots reserved for test takers.

His right foot landed in a deep puddle as he stepped off the curb, heading around the car to the driver’s side, the water quickly soaking through his Nike sneaker.

Justin did his best to ignore his sopping wet shoe as he opened the car door and clambered behind the wheel, his T-shirt and cargos also unpleasantly damp from the pelting rain.

Sutton hurriedly entered the car from the other side, slamming the door behind him and letting out a mighty sneeze. “Blasted allergies,” he complained, fishing a couple tissues out of a trouser pocket and blowing his nose before fastening his seat belt.

A burst of fellow feeling hit the teenager, his own nose twitching for a second as he also secured his seat belt. Fortunately he didn’t start sneezing. If his allergies were acting up, no wonder the examiner seemed kind of detached and disinterested.

After holding the tissues up to his nose again and emitting a foghorn-like noise, Sutton inquired, “So, which side’s your gas gauge on?”

“On the left,” Justin answered confidently.

“You know that how?” the man followed up.

Justin had filled up this car a few times since Jennifer first showed him how - inserting the nozzle, starting the gas pumping, and pressing the little doohickey so the pump would shut off automatically once the tank was full. That wouldn’t be the answer the examiner was looking for, though; any moron could walk around the car and find the little door for the gas tank, especially if they released it from inside the vehicle so that it sprang open.

The teenager smirked, grateful to his mom for cluing him in to the trick to use when driving a strange vehicle. “The arrow next to the gas pump icon on the dashboard goes to the left.” 

“Good,” Sutton acknowledged the correct answer. “You’d be surprised how many people don’t know about that, even when they’ve been driving for years.” He paused for a moment before asking, “Your turn signal, headlights, brake lights, hazard lights and horn all in working order?”

“Yeah. My mom and I tested everything out yesterday.”

The examiner cast a jaundiced eye at the rain, which continued to piss down. “I don’t want to stand out in this rain, unless it’s strictly necessary. Since you’re not driving a clunker and the interior of the car looks to be shipshape, I’m going to take you at your word.”

That was fine with Justin. He took a deep breath, preparatory to starting the car and getting underway.

Sutton forestalled him with another question. “What’s the hand signal for a left turn?”

“Huh?” Shit, the guy was gonna think he didn’t know the answer. “Um, can I just put the key in the ignition and roll down the window so I can show you?” Justin scrambled to correct his dumbass response, unable to suppress a grimace at the idea of sticking his arm out the window and getting it dripping wet.

Sutton chuckled. “No need, lad. Just tell me what you’d do.”

“I’d stick my left arm straight out the window.”

“And to signal a stop?”

“Bend my elbow so my hand hangs down.”

“Kee-rect,” Sutton drawled. "That’ll do for now. Why don’t we get underway?”

Just then, Justin caught sight of the bracelet on his right wrist and remembered when he’d bought it. He’d been window shopping at the mall and really wanted one made of three colorful strands of entwined beads, but he’d doubted his dad would react well to something so girly. Instead he got a blue one with gold beads for Daphne and the brown one with silver beads for himself. Craig had teased him about ‘going steady,’ making Justin mentally roll his eyes. As if he would go steady like some ten-year old.

It took Sutton clearing his throat for Justin to realize he was keeping the examiner waiting. As he belatedly nodded in response to the man’s suggestion, he remembered the sun glinting off the beads on Daphne’s bracelet earlier this afternoon and heard an echo of her voice telling him he could do it. He sat up a little straighter, the steering wheel clasped tightly in his clammy hands.

“Start the engine then, and head out of the lot, turning right onto Baum.”

The car jolted a little as Justin signaled, checked for traffic, and pulled away from the curb. Great start, Taylor, he thought sarcastically. His mom’s Lincoln was an automatic, and he’d been practicing in it regularly - way more than the required sixty-five hours - so he should have been able to pull away smoothly.

While he was berating himself, a car came out of nowhere, roaring past him, its tires sending a wave of water spewing up against the Lincoln. Justin had to brake quickly, causing both him and the examiner to jerk forward against their seatbelts.

“You’ve got good reflexes and reacted quickly,” Sutton praised him before adding a caveat. “You always have to be on the lookout for maniac drivers, son.” He glared at the driver of the jeep as the brunet slotted it smoothly into a too-small space marked for ‘compact vehicles.’ 

As the windshield wipers frantically swished from side to side, Justin got a glimpse of a handsome profile, auburn hair, and expensive sunglasses. He was hit by a surge of possessive envy; he’d seen a model wearing wraparound glasses like those when he was flipping through an old issue of _Out_ \- one he scored from the dentist’s office and kept hidden behind his headboard. He’d even tried on a pair of Balenciagas the last time he was in Kaufmann’s, but he’d just looked stupid instead of cool. Not like this guy, who appeared to be sneering indifferently at the world.

He wasn’t sure, though, why the guy was wearing sunglasses when it had gotten so dark and stormy outside. Maybe he forgot to remove them? Or maybe the sunglasses were photochromic. For the price Balenciaga charged - Justin had almost dropped them out of shock when he read the discreetly placed tag - it made sense that they would have special features-

“Okay, let’s try again,” the examiner encouraged Justin, interrupting his speculations. “You’re doing fine. Don’t let a cretin like that bother you.”

Huh. Maybe this Sutton guy wasn’t so bad after all. 

Through the rain, Justin could see his mom looking out a window at the back of the DMV, standing there aghast with her hands over her mouth. She must’ve wanted to watch Justin depart and then been horrified by the near accident. Giving her a reassuring wave with his left hand, Justin again glanced in the side-view mirror and checked over his left shoulder for approaching vehicles before pulling away from the curb with only a tiny jolt.

While Justin was trying to get underway, a fuming Brian turned into the pennDOT lot. His whole afternoon had been shot to hell by this damned ticket, which meant he’d have to work at home tonight to catch up and be ready for tomorrow. He wouldn’t even be able to drop by Babylon for a bit of stress relief. Instead, he’d be planning a fucking pet food campaign, and worst of all, looking at women’s lingerie.

Brian glared at his cup of cold coffee as he took a final swig. Figuring it wouldn’t delay him much, he’d swung out of the stop-and-go - mostly stop - traffic and got a latte from a drive-through coffee house twenty minutes ago. “Fucking waste of five bucks,” he muttered sourly. It had been lukewarm to start with, and the barista didn’t put in enough sugar.

A nondescript sedan was pulling away from the curb with a jerk when he looked up from his lousy cup of joe. It then came to an abrupt halt. “Moron,” he sneered, getting a fleeting impression of a young, shocked face looking at him through the rain streaming down the windows of both vehicles. 

Considering the kid had been parked in the area designated for the road test, Brian had no trouble figuring out that the lad - given the haircut, he was pretty sure it was a boy - was embarking on his test. Heck, he’d done the kid a favor even if Brian was going a little fast for a parking lot. Now the youngster would remember to check twice before pulling out. Maybe he’d even be alert enough to perform well and pass the exam.

After turning off the car, Brian removed his sunglasses, tossing the expensive eyewear onto the passenger seat. Fucking things weren’t doing a very good job of disguising the fine lines across the bridge of his nose - which liberal application of his French anti-aging cream was supposed to prevent.

He grimaced as he released his seatbelt and opened the door, sliding one Armani-clad leg out into the pouring rain. Exiting the vehicle, Brian resigned himself to his lightweight suit getting drenched the very first time he’d put it on. Water sloshed up over his Ferragamo loafers as he began walking toward the DMV building, the vehicle that had almost lurched into his jeep moments before spraying him with more water as it slowly cruised past him.

Christ, the powers that be at the DMV had better not be so looney tunes that they granted a license to that kid. He was a menace.

In comparison, Brian hadn’t had any problems with his road test - he sailed right through it. Surprisingly, his mom had been the one to go with him when he practiced. She was actually fairly sober when she supervised; of course, it was all in aid of him being able to ferry her to church. During each practice run on which Joan accompanied him, Brian would figure out how to drive his parents’ old junker and practice the rules of the road by himself, while Joan prayed and clutched the oh shit handle. When they got home, she’d dash up the walkway to the house and be starting on a second glass of sherry by the time Brian parked the beater and followed her inside.

Jack, he remembered, had slapped him on the back - harder than necessary, making him stagger forward - after he got his junior license and said something stupid like, “Now, you’re practically a man.”

Fat lot his dad knew about him, then or now.

He was driving down a quiet residential road - a huge relief after the highway - when someone suddenly stepped into the road from behind a parked car. Justin braked quickly, thrusting both him and the examiner forward against their seatbelts. He white-knuckled the steering wheel, fine tremors coursing through his slender frame - he’d narrowly avoided hitting the tween, who was busy talking on her cell phone, unbothered by the rain, and wasn’t paying any attention to her surroundings. The clueless twit stared at the vehicle bug-eyed, as if wondering where it had come from, before scampering across the lawn and into a nearby house, shouting, “Mom!” at the top of her lungs. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Justin saw Sutton flip over a sheet on the clipboard and begin jotting notes on the next page. His shoulders sagging in defeat, the teen figured that was it - he’d blown the test for sure. Up till now, a couple snafus aside, Justin thought he’d been doing okay. Even in the pouring rain with the windshield wipers swinging back and forth at high speed, he’d just executed a three-point turn flawlessly. All those hours of practice were paying off.

But now, the examiner was probably making notes like: poor situational awareness - a bugbear for Justin when driving in an unfamiliar area - driving too fast for the conditions, substandard reaction time, and-

Right as Justin had convinced himself that he must’ve been speeding too, Jeff came out with, “Good reflexes, but you always have to be on the lookout for dumbsh- er, stupid jaywalkers.” Glancing at the teenager’s clenched jaw and trembling hands, he added, “Go on, son; you’re doing fine.”

Despite being praised for his quick reflexes for the second time, Justin was still trembling as he depressed the gas pedal. He pushed a little too hard with his foot, again starting off with a hitch.

One Ferragamo shoe tapping impatiently against the ugly linoleum flooring at the DMV, Brian shifted in the orange plastic seat. The movement, which did nothing to ease the numbness in his buttocks, nearly sent his laptop crashing to the floor. Catching the computer at the last second, Brian swore under his breath.

Not quietly enough, though, since the old biddy next to him immediately chastised, “Language, young man!”

Jesus, Brian thought, casting an irritated glance at the beldame, someone that old shouldn’t be driving in the first place. Then again, maybe she didn’t drive - she just hung out at the DOT for her social hour. She’d probably get on well with the warden; they could trade off between the church and the DMV, chastising anyone who ‘transgressed.’ Hell, Joan might even be willing to share her morning libation with her new friend.

Huffing out a wry laugh, Brian glanced at the digital display. It was still stuck on ‘52,’ like it had been for the past fifteen minutes. Christ, considering the crowd in the building, it could be hours before they got to ‘55,’ the number he’d pulled from the machine when he arrived half an hour ago. Fucking A/C was on the fritz, which meant everyone was sweating buckets and on edge.

On top of that, Marty would be up his ass if he didn’t snag this client for the agency. Why Ryder had such a hard-on for this pet food purveyor, Brian didn’t know. Maybe he wanted a discount on pet food for all his children’s animals. Or for his children. Fuck knew, he’d fathered plenty of brats on a number of women in addition to his wife... Whatever the reason, Marty had been courting Iams for years and expected his top ad exec - the one he’d just started dangling a partnership in front of - to cinch the deal. Since Ryder liked to hedge his bets and would sometimes pit his staff against each other, Brian suspected he was making the same partnership insinuations to a couple of the other advertising executives. Blandishments aside, though, he knew he was the best adman at the agency. If Ryder didn’t follow through within a reasonable time frame - say two years - Brian would go elsewhere. Maybe he’d even start his own agency.

Justin maneuvered the Lincoln into a free space in the road test area at the DMV, neatly parallel parking between a vehicle emblazoned with the state of Pennsylvania insignia and a Ford station wagon. He’d vaguely wondered why the examiner didn’t have him parallel park during the exam, not expecting him to save that till the very last moment. Sneaky, he thought with reluctant admiration. It reminded him of the way a couple of the teachers at St. James liked to put tough questions at the end of a pop quiz; the students thought they were home free and then - bam!

He was sure when he’d stopped at the end of the highway on-ramp that that was it - it was such a rookie mistake, one the driver’s manual warned new drivers to avoid. If only Sutton hadn’t selected one of the nastiest, shortest entrances in Pittsburgh... The backed-up, heavy afternoon traffic meant he’d had to stop and wait because there was literally no room for him to accelerate and merge. The drivers behind him had begun honking, making him sweat for what seemed like hours, even if he knew logically that it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes.

At least he hadn’t had to go on the freeway, the youngster once more tried to console himself. That might have been even worse. If it weren’t for the closure of the downtown center, he could well have ended up on I-376 during his test. In spite of all his hours behind the wheel, driving on the interstate still unnerved him a little. Everyone was in such a hurry, cutting across multiple lanes to reach exits and pressing their horns if anyone slowed them down.

Now that the exam was finally over, Justin couldn’t bear to look at Sutton, busying himself with turning off the ignition and checking that the headlights were off and the hand brake set. He wouldn’t normally have been so stressed out about passing the road test. If you didn’t pass on the first go, you could take it a second or even a third time before you’d be required to put in more documented hours of practice. His mom would insist he do that before he retook the test anyway, so no big diff.

Sure, he’d be mortified to admit to Daph that he’d failed - he’d never failed a test in his life - and would have to eat crow, but he could endure all of that. It was just that he had so much riding on this test. He didn’t want to start his junior year a total virgin, except for a couple chaste kisses he’d exchanged with his bestie. Those didn’t count. That was what would happen, though, if he couldn’t get out on his own to explore. Well, he could always ask Daphne to give him a ride, but that wouldn’t exactly be ideal.

“You did well,” came a comment from his right, which bolstered his flagging hopes. “You had a lot more to contend with than anyone else I’ve taken out for their test drive in the last few years.”

Justin inhaled and held his breath. That must mean he’d done okay, right? At least well enough to pass the test. He’d be satisfied with scraping by.

“You’re observant, and you have excellent reaction time, Mr. Taylor. Even though you got a mite nervous a couple times-”

Talk about an understatement, Justin thought.

“-you still kept it together. I reckon you’re going to be a top-notch driver.”

“Does that mean I passed?” Justin got out, expelling in a rush the breath he’d been holding.

Sutton chuckled. “Of course you did, lad. There was never any doubt.”

Sheesh, Justin wished he’d been aware of that when it seemed like he was making one boner after another…

“Get on with it,” the man ordered, still laughing. “Take this inside” - he scribbled something on the top sheet attached to his clipboard and handed it to Justin - “and get your mugshot.”

Key fob in hand, Justin climbed out of the car and took a couple steps toward the building, forgetting for a second that Sutton needed to get out before he locked his mom’s car.

“A word of advice, son,” the fellow suggested as he slid out of the Lincoln.

The teenager looked at him sheepishly, an idea for a cartoon sketch popping into his mind as he waited for the examiner to continue. ‘Five points docked for locking passengers in the vehicle,’ he imagined Sutton’s note reading.

“Be careful to follow the junior license strictures.”

Justin blinked in confusion, his brain still half immersed in planning the drawing. What did that mean?

“You look really young,” Sutton clarified as they walked inside. “You’re gonna look like a fourteen-year-old out for a joyride, so the cops are bound to keep a close eye on you. Don’t give them a reason to pull you over and yank your license. I’d recommend staying well within the curfew. Don’t go driving around with a bunch of teenage friends either.”

The blond blanched. Already branded with a big ‘JR’ on his license, like all junior drivers - the cops probably joked that it meant ‘just reckless’ - Justin's youthful appearance was another strike against him. He didn’t want to give the police any reason to question him. They might discover his secret, and he’d heard all sorts of horror stories about how they treated fa-

“How’d it go?” chirped his mother, rushing over from where she’d been hovering inside the entrance to the building. “Did you pass, sweetie?”

Justin beamed a smile at her in reply.

“Twenty-nine, huh?” the scrawny woman muttered with a touch of schadenfreude as she peered at his license and keyed the number into her computer.

For fuck’s sake, he was nowhere near that old. “I’m twenty-eight, dammit!” the irate brunet yelled. He had practically two years till the dreaded three-oh.

The clerk didn’t apologize for the egregious error. Taking a cursory glance at the ticket Brian had thrust across the counter, she instead admonished, “If you can’t be civil, I’ll have to ask you to leave, Mr. Kinsey.”

Christ, the woman must be half blind, Brian thought, shaking his head. First she’d gotten his age wrong and now this, although he was rather amused by the alteration of his last name.

He was about to correct her when he heard a kid to his left complaining about the picture on their license. Snorting, Brian glanced down at his own ID on the counter next to the clerk’s computer. It simply wasn’t possible to take a good DOT photo.

The good thing about the picture on his junior license - long since replaced when he had to renew - was that he’d looked young, but the hat head was gross, so he wasn’t sorry to say goodbye to that photo. He’d been wearing a hand-me-down Pirates’ baseball cap from Jack and looked like a space cadet instead of his usual hot self. Of course, having Joanie with him had hardly been conducive to taking a decent picture.

He’d just been glad to actually get his junior license at sixteen-and-a-half, which wouldn’t have happened if Joanie hadn’t desperately needed someone to drive her over to Our Lady of Fatima after her morning libation.

“You should’ve gone to the barber,” he heard a woman fuss - as if the lack of a fresh haircut were to blame for a lousy DMV photo.

Looking over, he saw a blond lad. On the short side, but Brian would fuck him - _if_ he were into blond boy chicken. The kid didn’t look nearly old enough for a license, but he must have been at least as old as Brian when he got his. The boy was clutching his new ID in one hand, his face scrunched up in disgust as he moaned, “I look like a zombie!” 

An uptight-looking blonde woman who had to be his mother was standing right next to him, an intense expression on her face as she spoke. “Now, Justin, you have to follow the rules of the road, and I expect you to be home by ten at night if I’m going to allow you to drive by yourself.”

Brian rolled his eyes. Christ, did she really expect a teenage boy to respect a ridiculous curfew like that? That was even stricter than the eleven o’clock deadline imposed by pennDOT, which hadn’t changed in the years since he got his junior license.

He didn’t pay much attention to the boy’s features - although he did have a fleeting thought that the upturned nose was cute, which made him mentally sneer at himself. Since when did he give a damn about ‘cute’? He liked his guys tall, built, and hot.

Even so, he honed in on the blond’s behind, which baggy cargo pants couldn’t completely disguise - he’d definitely tap that given the opportunity. He wished the boy’s trousers were form-fitting since he was curious whether the frontal assets matched those in the rear.

But Christ, the kid was _short_. Not only wasn’t he into chicken, he didn't do short. Bad enough to have a best friend who was fucking height challenged. Brian got a crick in his back every time they danced.

The DOT employee across the counter from the shrimp must’ve had a similar thought because he wisecracked, “Bet you need a booster seat, huh?”

Justin had been admiring his newly minted license - well, except for the atrocious photo. So much for his mom’s claims about him being photogenic. Then there was the ‘JR’ superimposed on an outline of the state of Pennsylvania. Those letters were like a flashing neon sign to ‘beware of inexperienced teenaged driver who will pull stupid shit.’

Sutton’s words still echoing in his ears, he couldn’t wait to turn eighteen and have those letters replaced by an innocuous ‘DL.’ Maybe by then he’d actually look old enough to possess a license.

Caught off-guard by Dwayne’s ‘witticism,’ the teen flushed at the laughter that came from around him. The height issue was a sore spot. He’d been having a bit of a growth spurt - had finally topped 5’7” - but now it was slowing down again. At this rate, he wouldn’t even be as tall as his mom who had, like, a good two inches on him. He either had to move the seat closer to the wheel - and the pedals - or stretch his legs out uncomfortably. More than once when Jennifer was driving, he’d seen her bite her lip to keep from laughing as she pushed the seat back.

Brian couldn’t help laughing at the joke, even if it was rather mean-spirited. Curious, he waited to see how the kid would react. If the boy was gay - Brian’s gaydar was pinging wildly - he was gonna have to deal with much ruder jests than that one.

Beet-red from embarrassment, the teenager nevertheless lifted his chin and stared challengingly at the pimply clerk. “I’m not short where it _counts_ ,” he stated, the inference clear.

“Justin!” the blonde woman gasped.

Her remonstrance was largely lost in the laughter that followed Justin’s retort.

Good for you, kid, Brian thought. 

“Here we go, Mr. Kinsey,” the clerk mangled his name again. “You were double-parked on Smallman Street on May fourteenth at three-oh-six p.m.”

Brian recognized the street; Mikey and Emmett’s apartment building was on Smallman. Thinking back a couple months, he remembered lending Michael his jeep so he could transport some of his comic book paraphernalia from his mom’s house without damaging it.

Why the fuck hadn’t Mikey told him about it, though? His best friend knew Brian never had any problem coughing up money if Mikey was running short. One of the little snots that were always harassing Em and Michael for being gay had probably swiped the ticket from under the windshield wiper, Brian surmised.

“You should be careful, Mr. Kinsey,” the clerk lectured him sententiously. 

Like you’ve never committed an infraction, Brian thought, his eyes narrowing.

“You’ve already been penalized five points for speeding. There’s a note on your file to assess an additional point for all your parking tickets if this one isn’t paid by-”

“Can I just pay the fine?” Brian gritted out, interrupting the officious woman’s moralizing.

The clerk pursed her lips at him before nodding and telling him the amount. “You really should take heed, however, Mr. Kinsey. A businessman like you wouldn’t want to be reduced to taking the bus.”

Like that would ever happen, Brian scoffed to himself, removing his checkbook from the breast pocket of his suit jacket. Taxis were created for emergencies like that.

An evil grin on his face as he pocketed the receipt and made his way to the door, Brian decided he might just have to frame the ticket and receipt for his best friend’s birthday, right after he strangled Mikey for doing this to him… 

Justin’s wet sneaker squelched against the floor as he also headed for the exit, his mother right behind him. He flushed, thinking it sounded obscene, like when his hand was flying over-

His thoughts scattered as he got a look at a tall, dark, and handsome man, who was also headed for the door. His vision was partly hindered by a sudden shaft of sunlight - which created a halo around the stranger - but he could see a designer suit wrapped around a lean frame, brunet locks caressing the collar of the jacket. He rapidly heated up more than he had before the road test. He already knew he liked boys, as his drawings and porn stash would attest, but he hadn’t admitted it to anyone, not even his best friend. This, however, wasn’t a _boy_.

The steaming hot, older guy, Justin realized, was lagging behind him and appeared to be intently eyeing his backside. Was the brunet actually checking _him_ out? Justin wondered, almost walking into the door.

“Are your allergies bothering you, honey?” Jennifer’s concerned voice broke the spell. “You’ve just gotten over that bad attack from the weekend. Why don’t you give me the keys, and let me drive us home?”

His eyes still following the older man as he strode into the parking lot, Justin didn’t object, dazedly handing his mom the keys. He watched, mouth hanging open, as the guy got into his jeep and drove off. Was that the vehicle he’d almost plowed into at the start of his driving test? He couldn’t help wishing he had sideswiped the jeep, even if that meant failing his driving test. At least he would have caught the Adonis’ attention; it would be well worth a reaming out.

He despaired that he’d ever see a man that godlike again. Maybe, now that he had his license, he could talk his mom into letting him have the car one evening. He’d make up a story about how he and Daph were going to the movies or something. He knew his bestie would have his back, like always. Instead of going to a show, though, he’d head to Liberty Avenue and check out the scene - regardless of whether he had to leave way before the night heated up because of the stupid parental curfew.

As he put on his sunglasses, Brian felt a pang of regret that the kid was so young - he’d looked really tasty from the rear. It was likely, though, that the blond would end up on his turf in a few years. He’d be fair game then.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by Justin's upcoming lesson on driving in snow in Tricky Business. I started wondering what getting his license might have been like for Justin. Then came the ‘what if’ of Justin and Brian first catching a glimpse of each other outside of Liberty Avenue.
> 
> I welcome any kind of feedback (but the good one is obviously better, duh) and will love you no matter what you have to say to me. :)
> 
> If you didn’t recognize Justin’s ringtone, it’s from 'Every Breath You Take' by The Police. :D  
> ‘JR’ = junior driver’s license  
> ‘DL’ = driver’s license  
> pennDOT = Pennsylvania Department of Transportation  
> DMV = Department of Motor Vehicles, aka “Hell”  
> \---------------  
> 1 Aug 2020: edited to add ‘Yinzer’ which I failed to realize might need an explanation :D  
> ‘Yinz,’ a contraction of ‘you-uns,’ is to Pittsburgh as y'all (you all) is to the South. A Yinzer is a native or inhabitant of Pittsburgh. ‘Yinzer’ was historically used to identify the typical blue-collar people from the Pittsburgh region who often spoke with a heavy Pittsburghese accent.


End file.
